The Bet
by 5222008
Summary: In which a bet is made, a winner is declared, and the aftermath is handled.      This fits in the "Rules"/Signs 'verse, and contains events mentioned in Wet Hair. Sand. Kiss. and The Signs.
1. Chapter 1

It started innocently enough: a simple bet between friends, made while mildly intoxicated, witnessed by two vaguely neutral parties. The stakes weren't even that high — a dollar and bragging rights.

Santana, Brittany, Quinn, and Rachel were all sitting in Santana's living room on a Friday night, sharing a bottle of tequila that Brittany had gotten from her parents' liquor cabinet. At the beginning of the evening, conversation had mostly revolved around school and gossip, but as the tequila flowed it loosened the tongues of all four girls. Quinn felt the effects most of all.

"I'm telling you, I'm really good with girls! They can't resist me!" She was facing the other three, sprawled on Santana's couch with her head upside-down over the front.

"Yeah right, Quinn," said Santana, looking up from nuzzling Brittany's neck. "You have no girls; you have no skills; you have no hope."

Rachel laughed, but quickly sobered when she saw Quinn's glare.

"I'm sure you're very charming, Quinn," she said, fearful of the blonde girl's wrath.

"I'm a good kisser, too!" Quinn was pouting now, arms crossed over her chest and lower lip jutted out.

"Actually," said Brittany, "that part's true. She _is _a good kisser."

"See?" asked Quinn petulantly.

Santana glared at Quinn and wrapped her arms more securely around Brittany.

"You know, Quinn," Rachel said, "in the relatively short time that we've been friends, I've never heard you mention that you'd been kissing girls." She took a sip of her margarita. "In fact, I'm not convinced that you've ever actually kissed a girl, for all your big talk."

Quinn righted herself on the couch.

"Hey!" she said. "I've kissed three — " she held up two fingers, then four, then dropped her hand completely " — three girls!"

"Brittany doesn't count," Santana said.

"It's true," said Brittany. "I've kissed everyone. I don't count."

"Fine," Quinn said. "Two girls. At cheerleading camps."

Santana laughed. "If it wasn't someone we know, it doesn't count."

"So you've never kissed a girl!" Brittany crowed triumphantly.

Quinn slid off the couch. "I _could_ kiss girls, if I wanted."

Rachel patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Whatever you say, champ."

"I could!" Quinn cried, now flat on the carpet.

Rachel and Brittany exchanged a look.

"Go ahead," said Rachel, scooting closer. "Kiss me. I dare you."

Quinn laughed. "I'm not going to kiss you. Dares are stupid, and I'm not going to kiss you."

"Okay." Rachel shrugged. "It's okay to be scared, Quinn."

"Look," said Quinn, "if I wanted to kiss you, I'd kiss you. And you'd like it."

Santana and Brittany laughed.

Quinn took a long drink of her tequila sunrise. "I'll bet you a dollar that I can kiss you," she said, finally.

Rachel crooked an eyebrow and grinned. "Really?"

"Really. Give me two weeks from tonight. If I haven't done it by then, I lose the bet and owe you a dollar."

"And," interjected Santana, "we get to call you a wimp from now until eternity."

Quinn swallowed nervously. "Is it a deal?"

Rachel nodded. The two girls shook hands, and the bet was on.

A week later, the girls were enjoying another girl's night, this time at Rachel's house. Quinn had come very close to winning the bet on three separate times, but she had chickened out at the crucial moments.

"So, you ready to admit defeat?" Rachel asked, smiling as she sipped her vodka-cranberry.

"Why? You nervous? Scared you might like it?" Quinn, who was sitting next to Rachel on the couch, put her arm around the smaller girl's shoulder and pulled her closer.

"I would like you to know, Quinn, that although I am not in any way averse to kissing women, I don't believe that you have the requisite skills to make kissing you an enjoyable experience."

Quinn frowned. "I'm a good kisser!" She removed her arm from around Rachel's shoulder. "Really!"

Santana laughed. "Whatever gets you through the night, Q."

An hour later, Quinn and Rachel were standing in the kitchen preparing another round of drinks. Quinn, decided that this was, at last, _the_ moment. She put one hand on Rachel's back and leaned in, closing her eyes and preparing herself to meet — thin air. She groaned; Rachel had turned, ready to take the next round into the living room and preventing Quinn from landing her intended kiss.

"Oh, Quinn, was that — I mean did I — were you trying to — "

Quinn nodded. "That should count. I made the effort; it's not my fault that it didn't work.

Rachel laughed. "No, that's so not how that works. But I will stand perfectly still right now if you want to try again!"

Quinn grabbed her drink and stalked out of the room.

Wednesday night _should _have been the night. Quinn was sitting in Rachel's basement for their twice-weekly _Murder, She Wrote_ sessions. As Rachel sat up after the first episode, ready to give Quinn a backrub, her face was only inches away from Quinn's. Quinn knew that _this_ was the moment, if there was ever going to be a moment at all. In that split second, however, she realized that she couldn't win the bet sober. She didn't want to cross a line with Rachel, and at least if she was drunk she could blame the alcohol if the kiss was bad (or, even worse, if the kiss was _good_).

"Friday night! Last chance for romance!" Santana greeted Quinn as the three other girls walked into the Fabray house.

"I know," said Quinn. "I'm going to win this yet. I have — " she looked at her cell phone " — almost five hours left."

Rachel laughed and hugged Quinn. "Sure you will, bucko. Let's start drinking, ok? Santana brought rum, and I vote Goombay smashes!"

After an hour and three drinks each, it was time to head to Puck's house. His mom and sister had gone to visit a cousin in Shaker Heights, so he had taken the opportunity to throw a massive party.

As the girls walked, Rachel grabbed Quinn's arm.

"Look, Quinn," she said quietly, trying to keep the other girls from hearing. "You don't have to do this. I'll tell Santana and Brittany that you won the bet, so they won't tease you. It was a stupid idea, and I just don't want you to be uncomfortable, okay?"

"Rach," Quinn said, "I'm going to win this bet. Make sure your lips are well-glossed for the next four hours, 'cause they're going to need it!"

At that moment, Rachel and Quinn were walking past a house under construction. In what was once the front yard sat a portable dumpster and a storage pod. Quinn saw her opportunity and seized it. Pushing Rachel against the storage container, she kissed the shorter girl for all she was worth. Rachel's tongue swiped across Quinn's lower lip and she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. When lack of oxygen finally became a problem, she broke the kiss and stared at Rachel, open-mouthed.

"I won the bet!" she screamed, running towards Santana and Brittany.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana and Brittany stared at Quinn in disbelief as she ran towards them, still yelling that she had won the bet.

"Is this true, Smurf?" Santana asked Rachel as the shortest of the four girls approached, grumbling under her breath.

"Yes. It's true. She ignominin — ignominiousi — iginom — she shoved me up against a dumpster and kissed me and she should be ashamed!"

"For the record," Quinn said, "it wasn't a dumpster. It was a storage container. And I won the bet!"

Rachel scoffed. "A dumpster!"

Quinn grinned and stuck out her hand. "Gimme my dollar, and you can call it a dumpster."

Rachel grudgingly reached into the front pocket of her jeans and removed a single dollar. She handed it to Quinn, who took it and laughed.

"Best dollar I ever earned," Quinn said, snapping the dollar and walking towards Puck's house. "I think I'll frame it!"

The next week's girls' night found the group back at Quinn's house. Rachel had brought up the "ignominious attack against the dumpster" at every possible opportunity for the past week, and Quinn was getting frustrated.

"Look, Rach," she said, when Santana and Brittany had gone into the kitchen to get another round of drinks, "the bet was whether I would kiss you, and I did. Why do you keep focusing on the circumstances?"

Rachel didn't respond.

"If I didn't know better," Quinn mused, moving closer to Rachel on the floor, "I'd think you wanted me to kiss you again. Is that what you want, Rach?"

Rachel laughed. "Certainly not, Quinn. I just find it absurd that you brag about your skills with women, and that was one of the least romantic kisses, if not _the_ least romantic kiss, of my entire life."

Quinn sat back, hurt. "You didn't like it?" she asked, suddenly vulnerable. "I didn't think it was _that_ bad."

Rachel smiled. "It wasn't a bad kiss, per say. But it was against a storage container, three feet from a dumpster, at a construction site. Pick your locations better!"

Quinn moved closer and Rachel held up a hand. "Not an invitation, Quinn."

It was sometime after midnight, although Quinn wasn't exactly sure what time. Santana and Brittany had gone back to Santana's house. Rachel was staying the night. They had been playing a rather heated game of Uno, but Quinn was getting tired. Unfortunately, although alcohol made Quinn tired, it had the opposite effect on Rachel.

"Let's go to bed. I'm wiped." Quinn gathered the cards after finally being defeated.

Rachel frowned, but followed Quinn up the stairs and into the blonde's room.

"Oh my god," she said, looking at the wall above Quinn's desk. "I can't believe you _actually _framed that stupid dollar."

"Hey!" Quinn exclaimed from the bathroom, where she was washing her face. "I'm proud of that dollar! I worked hard to earn it."

Rachel walked to the bathroom door and leaned against it. "That was hard work?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

Quinn laughed. "Well, it wasn't _so_ bad."

Rachel smiled and the girls finished their pre-bed routines.

"Hey, Quinn, I'm not sleepy! Entertain me!"

They were in Quinn's bed. Sharing a bed with the other girl didn't bother her — they had been doing it occasionally over the months with no awkwardness — but this was the first time it had happened since Quinn had won the bet. Quinn would have been content to just go to sleep, but Rachel wouldn't stop pestering her.

"Rach, I'm drunk and exhausted."

"But I'm drunk and hyper! So talk to me. Let's play a game!"

"The only possible game that could keep me awake right now would be the 'let's make out' game. And since we both know you don't want to do that — "

Quinn was silenced by the feel of Rachel's lips on her own. Several breathless moments later, Rachel pulled away.

"What the _hell_ was that?" asked Quinn.

Rachel shrugged. "I'm _really_ not tired," she said, and kissed Quinn again.


End file.
